


Cryptic

by Icecat62



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Gen, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icecat62/pseuds/Icecat62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Thatcher investigate a cemetery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cryptic

**Author's Note:**

> An IRB Fic for Magsby, with special assistance from Marian. :)

Walking briskly down the path, Thatcher frowned. Why was she doing this? It wasn't like Fraser couldn't check this out on his own, so why was she here? Looking ahead of her, she smiled. Fraser wearing his brown uniform was reason enough. With each stride he took, she got an excellent view of his posterior. With a resigned sigh, she tried to focus her mind on what they were here for.

Passing a large tombstone, she shivered. Cemeteries gave her the creeps. Taking quick steps, she caught up with Fraser and walked along side of him.

"Are we almost there?"

"Yes. If I remember correctly, it's over the ridge and a few yards past a large statue of an angel."

She was silent for a few moments, then it occurred to her.

"Fraser, when were you here to see it?"

She could see a flicker of a smile cross his lips before he answered her.

"I came here to retrieve Ray for a deposition. He was...working on a case of sorts. When you presented the information to me, I immediately remembered having seen it."

"Hopefully your memory will prove correct."

As they approached the crypt, she moved a tad closer to him. Too many nights spent alone watching old horror movies played havoc with her mind.

Fraser took a key from a pocket of his jacket. Inserting it in the lock, he pulled open the gate and motioned her forward.

"After you."

Brushing by him, Thatcher tried to appear her normal confident self, when all she wanted to do was get the hell out of there. She was in a crypt. There were dead bodies sealed up behind the cement walls all around her. She wasn't afraid, it was something more than that. Maybe it was the reminder that one day, she too would die and be buried. Or cremated. Either way, she didn't want to think about it.

Fraser walked into the crypt and made a beeline toward the far wall. Brushing dust and cobwebs aside, he gestured at the name.

"Thomas A. Grant. We have our man."

Thatcher smiled humorlessly.

"You mean we have our stolen identity. We still need to find out who it really is behind the name."

"Agreed."

Taking a pad of paper out, Fraser tore a sheet off and placed it over the name and began rubbing a pencil over the paper, effectively transferring the name onto it. Thatcher frowned as the name and dates appeared on the page.

"I wonder why he used a name from this region? It would have made more sense if he had taken it from a province being that he's a Canadian citizen. Or at least that's what Ottawa says."

"I can only assume that he made the decision to use the name of a deceased individual once he arrived in the states."

Finishing the transfer, Fraser neatly folded the paper and moved to place it in his jacket. He hesitated, then held the paper out to Thatcher.

As she took the paper from his hand, she let her fingers make contact with his. The touch was light and brief, but it was enough to change the feelings of unease in her to those of want and need.

Mentally chiding herself, she angrily snatched the paper from his hand and shoved it into her purse. As she turned to leave the crypt, Fraser's voice stopped her.

"Inspector...Meg."

She froze in place the moment she heard his voice saying her name. She knew what he was going to ask and didn't want to hear it. She'd weighed the options of a relationship with him and decided that she couldn't deal with it. She knew if she gave into her feelings, she would lose herself in him and that would mean giving up the control and order in her life that she had worked so hard to build.

Ignoring him, she began to quickly walk away only to trip and fall forward.

\---------------------

Fraser reacted with lightning speed as he saw Thatcher trip over a crumbled piece of granite. Jumping forward, he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to him. She reacted in a way he never expected.  
\------------------------

Instead of falling to the ground, Thatcher felt herself being jerked backward, then held tightly. The small bit of panic that she had repressed exploded. Struggling against whoever held her, she fought to escape their grasp.

"Meg what's wrong?"

"Let go of me!"

Feeling both confused and a bit unnerved by Thatcher's reaction, Fraser loosened his grip, but didn't entirely let go. Without warning, Thatcher wrenched violently away from him, knocking him backward.

\------------------------

Thatcher felt anger replacing part of the fear and her struggles became more controlled. She marshaled her strength and wrenched away from whatever or whoever was holding her and shoved them heavily away.

The person who held her stumbled and fell heavily into the crypt wall, quickly followed by what seemed to be a sound of surprised pain. Placing a few steps back to distance herself from her attacker, Thatcher froze in place. Blinking a few times, she swallowed nervously before taking a step forward.

"Fraser? Are you all right?"

She couldn't believe it. She had hit him. She waited for him to answer her. Instead, he straightened and backed away from her as he rubbed at his shoulder.

"Fraser?"

Taking a step forward, she reached out to him, surprised again as he backed away from her, his expression guarded and tinged with what looked like irritation.

"Let me take a look at your shoulder."

His voice was surprisingly cold.

"No thank you, I believe you've done enough."

She was taken aback by his tone of voice and reaction. Fraser never sounded anything other than professional and courteous.

"I didn't mean to react the way I did."

She knew it was a flimsy excuse, but she wasn't about to admit to him that she was squeamish around cemeteries.

"No, I believe you made your feelings perfectly clear."

He went to walk past her and she held a hand out to stop him.

"Fraser, let me look at your shoulder, that's an order."

Fraser looked down at her, his expression turning to stone, then all emotion disappeared. Thatcher's mouth dropped open the moment he spoke.

"There have been times when Ray has accused you of being cold and calculating and now I can see why. You avoid any contact with me, emotional or otherwise, yet you can stand here and inflict physical harm and then command me to be subjected to an exam by you."

"You don't think...you think I did that on purpose?"

His silence spoke volumes.

Her anger overrode any embarrassment that she was feeling.

"Let me look at your shoulder."

Without waiting for his reply, she stepped forward and removed his hand from where he had it clasped. She began to manipulate his arm and shoulder, watching his face for any sign of pain. When she pressed against the front of his collarbone, he winced.

Reaching up to undo his jacket, she paused.

"May I?"

"Do I have a choice in the matter?"

Ignoring his obvious sarcasm, she began to unbutton the jacket. Sliding it off of him, she felt the warmth of his body in the material of the coat, his scent wafting from it. Resisting the urge to bring it to her face and sniff it, she set it behind them on top of a vault.

Bringing her hands up, she quickly undid the tie and removed it. When she began to undo the top buttons of the shirt, her fingers felt numb. She had fantasies of unclothing Fraser. Fantasies that were something that could never happen if she wanted to keep her control.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, trying to feel nothing as she pulled the material back to expose an expanse of smooth white skin marred by a developing bruise. Running her fingers over the injury, he flinched slightly. Without thinking, she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the wound while trailing her fingertips lightly along his chest.

She could feel her heart pounding, the blood pulsing through her veins. Lifting her head, she expected to find him glaring at her. Their eyes locked and she could see that he wasn't angry. The smoldering look he gave her sent a shiver down her spine.

As she went to back away from him, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her in place. Her voice was a pleading whisper.

"Fraser...we can't."

"Why not? There's no official ruling that specifies we can't."

"I know, but there are internal regulations...reasons why we shouldn't."

Without warning, he leaned down and kissed her, pulling her tightly to him. At first she resisted him, keeping her lips closed to him, but within seconds she opened her mouth to him, feeling the velvet of his tongue against hers.

His hands shifted their position, one pressing her body to his, the other winding his fingers through her hair, holding her possessively in place as his lips continued their assault. Kisses trailed their way down the side of her neck as his teeth gently nipped at her flesh.

She let out a surprised gasp as his hands cupped her ass and he pressed his groin into hers. A warmth spread between her legs as he slowly moved his hips against hers, his lips returning to kiss and taste her. Lightly moaning, she leaned into the hardness that pressed against her.

All the reasons, all the logic that she used to convince herself that loving Fraser was wrong disappeared as her body decided what it wanted. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she met his kisses with the same lust and want as he showed.

Fraser backed her up against a crypt, his heart soaring in delight as he felt Thatcher's barriers fall away with each kiss and touch of his body against hers. Emboldened by the soft sounds of delight that emanated from her, he pulled her shirt up and slid a hand slowly over her stomach, then he palmed a breast, sighing, as she didn't refuse him. When her hand slid downward between them to caress his hardness, he knew he had won the battle between what was right and what Thatcher deemed as protocol.

As her fingers unbuttoned his pants, he made quick work of her shirt. Pulling her bra up, he latched onto a nipple, suckling it greedily. He paused for a moment as she wrapped a hand around his throbbing length, tugging and pulling at him, then he resumed his assault on her breasts, alternating from one nipple to the other.

Her fingers worked magic as they stroked him, sliding over the smooth skin of his penis, softly cupping his balls, then twisting around his flesh. Sliding a hand between her legs, he frowned as his fingers touched nylon. Reaching further up, he tugged them down far enough so that he could work his hand down into her panties, finally able to touch her where he had never thought he would. Fingering her heated flesh, he parted the folds before dipping a finger into her inner most core.

He was rewarded by a loud groan from Thatcher that set his teeth on edge. Without asking what she wanted, he withdrew his hand. Picking her up, he set her onto of one of the crypts. Sliding his hands up her thighs and under her skirt he smiled seductively at her as he grabbed the waistband of her panties and hose and began tugging them down.

Her hips lifted and he quickly drew them down and off, pushing her shoes off in the process. Massaging her thighs with the palms of his hands, he pushed the material of her skirt up, revealing the brown thatch of curls between her legs.

Leaning over her thighs, he kissed them, letting his hands rub and caress her flesh. He urged her to lean back, then he dipped his head down to place a kiss on her lower stomach. Moving southward, he licked her skin in a circular motion. Her legs spread invitingly and as her fingers gently caressed the back of his neck, he trailed his tongue over her folds, then flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub hidden within.

Lapping at her heat, he was rewarded with deep moans of delight that sent shivers down his spine. He was pleasuring her the way he had fantasized on many a lonely night at the consulate. Slipping a finger into her moist core, he began to pump it slowly into her as he suckled and licked at her center. Her legs spread further and he could tell she was on the verge of climax.

As he pulled away from her, she cried out her displeasure. He stopped her protests by kissing her roughly while he pushed his pants and boxers down. His erection was painfully tight as he moved forward, pulling her closer toward the edge of the top of the crypt.

Moving between her legs, he pushed against her opening, choking back a moan as he slowly entered her heat a fraction. When her hips pushed toward him, it was all the invitation that he would need. Pressing forward, he slid into her moistness, then pulled back again before establishing a slow pumping rhythm.

They grappled for leverage before he pulled away from her. Pushing her backward, he motioned her to slide back so that he could join her on top of the crypt. He saw her briefly hesitate before scooting slowly backward to lie on top of his discarded jacket. Leaning over her, he nudged her legs apart, then plunged back into her slick opening.

Thatcher could feel the thread of terror weave it's way through her heart making it beat faster. She didn’t know whether to scream in horror or delight as Fraser pumped into her heat. She was having sex over a dead man. Or woman. Whatever. It was repulsive and horrible, yet the feelings of lust and want warred with her feelings of fear.

All thoughts of death fled as she felt the familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach. The heat flooded through her as her muscles contracted, the pleasure flowed through her as he continued to move into her. Moaning loudly, she grit her teeth as his thrusts increased in speed. Without warning, he pulled sharply away from her, spilling his seed across her thighs and abdomen.

He braced himself above her, panting as he stared into her eyes. He looked like he was about to say something to her, but instead he leaned down and kissed her deeply before moving away and swinging off the crypt.

Settling on his feet, he made quick work in cleaning and tucking himself and clothing back in place. He looked a bit ridiculous with his pants tented out by his fading erection. Reaching forward, he startled her by lifting her from the crypt and setting her down on her feet.

Thatcher was embarrassed to find her legs shaking as she dressed. She could feel his eyes on her as she wiped the cum from her body, then pulled the discarded clothing on. She shouldn't have done this. It was wrong, but as the old saying went, if it was so wrong, then why did it feel so right? Why did she let him have her in a place as disgusting as this?

She knew why and it scared the hell out of her. She'd loved him for some time and sooner or later, she knew if she would let her guard down, she'd let him have her in this way. There would be no going back to the distanced relationship of inspector and constable. The line had been crossed. Hell, it had been completely obliterated!

"Meg...what are you thinking?"

She looked up at him, seeing the hesitation in his eyes. She knew he was waiting for her to crush his heart in her hands. Waiting to see his hopes pushed aside by unwritten protocol. Well damn it she wasn't going to do it! She wouldn't go back to the cold indifference, the lonely nights. Reaching out, she took his hands in hers.

"I was thinking that we should go back to my place. Maybe have dinner...and possibly doing this again in a more comfortable setting."

He seemed stunned at first, then a smile slowly made its way to his face.

"That sounds agreeable."

As they made their way out of the crypt and through the cemetery, Thatcher found it ironic that she found her new life amidst death. This time the shiver that went down her spine wasn't fear, it was anticipation of what was to come.

END


End file.
